


Reminders

by zinjadu



Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: Grief/Mourning, Hate Sex, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-27
Updated: 2012-06-27
Packaged: 2017-11-08 17:19:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/445607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zinjadu/pseuds/zinjadu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU future fic, Richie loses his wife and weirdly enough Methos helps him get through it.  In his own way.  Written a while ago, rehosting here.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reminders

Richie Ryan had survived all kinds of things in last hundred years, but this was the first time he’d had to survive watching as his wife died of old age right in front of his eyes. There had been other girls, other times, but he hadn’t married any of them. He hadn’t loved any of them like this.

He held her hand —the palms had been so soft— which had become calloused and veined. No matter how much medical science had done to cure disease and ensure that everyone had healthier lives, nothing could stop the march of time. Death still claimed them all.

Her eyes fluttered open and lighted on him. At least she still remembered what he was. Who he was to her. “Richie?” she asked, voice small —her deep, rich laugh had drawn him to her right away, so open and happy. 

“I’m right here, Ella,” he said, breaking a little inside. Her eyesight had gone —she had had amazing blue eyes— and her eyes themselves had dulled. “I’m not going anywhere.” He stroked her hair, grey now —brilliant golden strands would catch the light— and his hand finally settled cradling her face. “I love you. Always will.”

“I know,” she said. “I…” A coughing fit interrupted her and it was a few minutes before she regained her breath. “I love you too,” she sighed.

Then the machines went haywire; nurses rushed in and pushed him out. He could only watch helplessly as they tried to keep her alive, but she still was slipping away. Farther and farther away, until the machines couldn’t even find her inside her body. Forcing his way back into the room, he knelt down at her side and sobbed. His wife was dead.

Richie barely noticed Duncan’s familiar brogue and the reassuring pat on the back.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

 

The preacher droned on and on about finding acceptance, and that Ella was in a better place now. Richie didn’t believe it. There was nothing better than being alive, being loved. Loving back. He sat stiffly in his suit, his wedding ring still on his finger.

He watched stonily as she was lowered into the ground.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

 

“You know, you really should do something with the décor. It’s a bit dated.” The first thing Richie noticed was that Methos still hadn’t dropped the British accent. Richie didn’t know why. Didn’t care.

“Fuck do you want?” Richie bit out. “Anyway, I like it. She liked it.”

“Oh, I see.” The other man ran his fingers over the books on the shelves, somewhat surprised to see so many in the possession of his young friend.

“Yeah, well, you saw. Now get out.”

“No,” Methos said, voice deeper, more commanding than normal.

Richie spun around and glared at Methos. “No? No? This is my house and I didn’t ask you to come here. I didn’t ask for your advice.” He had advanced on Methos till the two men were nose to nose.

“How long has it been, Ryan? Two years now, two years. MacLeod tried to talk to you and nothing. Amanda tried and nothing. But they don’t know what it is, do they? To watch someone you were in love with sink away from you into death. Nothing you could change, no one you could make a deal with. Old age, Ryan. It hurts, it burns, and do you know what?”

Richie gripped the front of Methos’ shirt and clenched his jaw. “What?” he growled.

“I’m sick of it. I’m sick of you and your self-pity. Oh, boo-hoo, poor me. I’ve lost my one true love. You’re worse than MacLeod. You disgust me. You piece of—”

Whatever Richie was a piece of, he never found out. He punched Methos before he could finish. “I disgust you? That’s rich. Oh, that’s rich. You… you…”

“Go on, say it,” Methos urged viciously. “Say. It.”

Instead of saying something, Richie took another swing at Methos. The older man nimbly stepped back out of reach and watched coolly as the younger man over balanced and fell down and cracked his head on the coffee table.

Methos winced in sympathy. Although, he decided, while I wait I could always get a beer from the fridge. 

When Richie came to, he saw Methos, beer in hand, standing over him. He grimaced as he hauled himself off of the floor. “What are you still doing here? Thought you’d be gone by now.”

“Oh, I don’t know. I rather like it here. There’s a rather homey feel.”

Richie narrowed his eyes, but Methos’ expression remained guileless. “Why are you here?”

Methos took a sip of his beer and grinned. “Someone’s got to look after you, Ryan.”

“That’s real good of you,” Richie said without enthusiasm.

“I know,” was the smug reply.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

 

The next morning, Richie stumbled out his bed room, clad in a rumpled t-shirt and old sweat pants, still fuzzy from not being able to sleep properly. Two years and he hadn’t had two good night’s sleep in a row. Maybe he did need help, he thought as he went downstairs.

“Good morning,” Methos greeted him from the living amidst a few boxes and slightly more duffel bags.

Never mind, Richie quickly amended. He grunted and shuffled by Methos into the kitchen. As he rummaged around for a bowl and spoon, he noticed that the kitchen was suspiciously clean. “What the hell did you do?” he yelled.

“That’s not a very nice thing to say,” Methos said from the doorway, an ancient looking book open in his hands. “I clean up the bacteria breeding ground that was your kitchen, nicely say good morning to you, and all you can do is glare at me.” He huffed and closed the book with a snap. “It’s amazing you were with a woman in the first place, let alone her entire lifetime.”

A bowl shattered right next to Methos’ head, although he seemed unperturbed by it. Richie stood, jaw clenched and fists balled at his sides, wanting nothing more than to pummel the other man right then. “You don’t have the right to talk about her. I hear one more word out of your mouth that comes anywhere near the subject of her, I swear to God I’ll reshape your nose.” Breakfast forgotten, Richie stomped off, leaving a slightly bemused Methos standing in the kitchen.

“Oh, we’ve got a long way to go,” he muttered.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

 

Methos had been living at Richie’s house for three weeks, and in that time not much about the young man had improved. If anything he seemed more determined to stay in his morose, self-pitying mood. Not for the first time, Methos wondered if he really was the best choice to snap Richie out of this. Recently, Richie began to avoid Methos with surprising skill, able to fall asleep at a moment’s notice to avoid conversation, or stealthily maneuvering about the house so his location would not be given away.

Taking his leave of the house for now, he wandered into a bar across town to meet Duncan and Amanda. They both wanted to know how their young friend was doing.

He felt the Buzz and quickly lighted on the two other Immortals, nodding to them as he walked over.

Duncan, impatient for news about Richie, started firing off questions before Methos even sat down. “How’s he doing? Is he alright? He is getting better, isn’t he, not so upset and starting to move on? Right?”

Methos sighed and stalled by putting his coat on a hook near their booth. He shook his head in response to Duncan’s questions as he sat down. “I’ve tried, but he doesn’t want to be helped. You can’t help someone who doesn’t want it.”

“You helped me when I didn’t want it,” Duncan pointed out.

“No, the evil that was in you didn’t want me to help you. You were still in there and allowed me to help you. It might be better for me to leave. I’m getting rather tired of things being thrown at me and being threatened with bodily harm on a daily basis, until he gets bored of that and just blatantly ignores my existence.”

“He actually threw things at you?” Amanda asked.

Methos’ expression turned rueful. “I seem to bring out the worst in him. It’s something I’ve been known to do on occasion to a great many people.”

“Then maybe you should leave. Duncan or I could try again. Maybe he’d be more responsive the second time around.”

Methos clenched his jaw and snorted. “As much as I’d like to, I can’t.”

“Wait, why can’t you? It’s not like you’ve ever stuck around when you really didn’t have to.”

The old man looked from Duncan to Amanda, almost as if he was abashed. “I made a promise to a good friend.”

Amanda looked to Duncan, but Duncan could only shake his head, surprised as Amanda was that Methos was keeping a promise to someone that concerned Richie. After a few false starts, Duncan finally spoke up. “Who did you promise to about Richie?”

Unable to look at either of his friends, he mumbled, “Joe.”

“Joe?” Duncan said, unbelieving.

“Yes,” Methos said, annoyed. “It was a couple of days before he died. He asked me to look after Richie after he was gone. He was dying, and it didn’t seem like it would be all that bad. Just keep the boy from dying now and again, but no, the idiot had to go and develop a few iotas of emotional maturity only to lose it once his wife died.”

They lapsed into uncomfortable silence following Methos’ outburst, but the old man was unapologetic.

“It is a good thing, though, what you’re doing. What you’re trying to do. Both of us appreciate it,” Duncan said. “I know Joe’d appreciate it.”

“Hmm,” was Methos’ only response.

“He did the same things to me, you know.” At Duncan’s admission, Methos raised an eyebrow. “Well, not threatening me or throwing things at me, but he did get pretty angry and go quiet off and on quite a bit.”

“He ignored me a lot, too. Ran hot and cold,” Amanda broke in.

“That’s just wonderful. It worked on the both of you, so he’s trying to run me out as well,” Methos observed.

“And you’ve got your work cut out for you, if that’s what it is. I was with him for a year and he kept it up.”

“Not helping, MacLeod.”

“Sorry.”

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

 

Richie sat on his couch, staring at nothing, while crushing drink packs and tossing them into the waste basket across the room. The repeating sounds of crunch, swish, thunk were starting to get on Methos’ nerves. The ancient Immortal had been subject to this all day and it looked like it wasn’t going to stop any time soon. Gritting his teeth, Methos stalked over to behind the couch and snatched a pack out of Richie’s hand.

“Enough of that. It’s quite annoying,” he drawled.

Richie’s head lolled back, and he glared up at Methos. He stared intently, as if he was in deep contemplation, and then nonchalantly tossed a drink pack at Methos’ face. Without pausing he went back to filling the waste basket with the remaining cans.

Methos gritted his teeth and sneered. “How mature. Throw a drink pack in my face. Very nice, Ryan, very nice. Is this how you dealt with Ella when she annoyed you?”

Richie shot up, shoulders bunched, and breathing angrily. “I told you not to talk about her,” he ground out.

“He speaks! I wondered what it would take. Six months and hardly a word out of your mouth, not that I particularly minded that, but I didn’t think you actually had it in you.”

Richie sneered, but stayed quiet.

Methos cursed himself for getting off track. “Back to the question at hand, though. Ella.”

Richie tensed. Methos grinned nastily.

“I’m sure the two of you argued.” He scoffed. “How could you not? It’s not like you ever really should have been with a woman like her.”

The other man’s hands balled into fists. Methos felt that he was finally getting somewhere.

“She was amazing, Ryan. I always did wonder how you managed to get her. Was it pity at first that later turned into something like love? Oh, I know you loved her, how could any man not? Intelligent, beautiful, kind.”

With each word, Richie inched toward Methos, each step full of malicious purpose.

Almost unaware of how well his needling was working, Methos pressed on. “Oh, my yes, she was something. I can tell you I wouldn’t have minded to have a small taste of her, although not after she got so horribly old.”

This time, when Richie moved to hit Methos, he succeeded. Methos was struck across the face with enough force to send him off his feet and tumbling backward. The older man reached up to touch his face and drew back to see blood on his hand. He laughed, as Richie advanced.

“Hit a nerve, did I? Don’t like me talking about your dear, sweet Ella like that?”

Richie reached Methos, grabbing him by his shirt front and lifting him up against a wall. “You. Don’t. Talk. About. Her.”

“Why? Did you own her? Lord over her? Or do you just not want to think about her?”

“Shut up!” Richie’s hand found its way around Methos’ neck, and he started to apply pressure.

Methos began to suffocate, but he was still smiling. “You can’t kill me this way,” he croaked out.

“Not permanently, but it’ll do.” Richie glared at Methos, watching as the other man struggled for air. Staring down and releasing a terse breath, he unclamped his hand from around Methos’ throat, but didn’t let go of his shirt. He was tired of death, tired of Methos pushing all his buttons. Hell, he was just plain tired.

“Knew you didn’t have it in you,” Methos drawled, smirk firmly in place.

Richie’s grip tightened again, and he hauled Methos by his shirtfront so that the other man was forced to look up at him. “Wanna bet?” There was a dangerous glitter in his blue eyes.

For a brief moment, Methos’ eyes went wide in shock as Richie snapped, then Methos regained control of his expression and heart beating wild with panic. “Yeah, I’d take that bet,” he said as he stood to his full height. “You aren’t a killer, Ryan. Just a punk, and not a very good one at that. You so desperately want to be the big man, but you’ll never be out from under MacLeod’s shadow. Then we probably shouldn’t even go down that road. Another failed parental figure of yours. People don’t always live up to our expectations, do they? Ella didn’t either. She left you, like everyone leaves you. That’s what you think, isn’t it? They all leave in the end. Push you away, try to escape you.” He laughed as the pressure on his neck intensified, but he pushed on heedless of Richie’s increasing rage. “And that’s what your dear, sweet Ella did to you. Escaped you the only way she could. Chose death over you, that traitorous bitch!” Methos had finally run out of steam, and looked down at Richie, who had focused his attention at a point over Methos’ shoulder.

The red head smiled crookedly before bunching his considerable shoulders and slamming Methos into the wall. “I told you not to talk about her, but you didn’t listen. You don’t know the first thing about her! About us! And I am gonna kill you, you son of a bitch!” Richie yelled. His breathing was ragged, and his jaw clenched. “I’m gonna strangle you and then, I’ll get a sword and no more Methos. And don’t give me any shit about Mac being pissed at me. Let him be pissed.”

Methos was close to blacking out, close to dying and then not able to come back. He’d lose his head. Richie was not going to back down this time. There had to be some way to stop him. Some way. Any way. Think Methos! Think! he told himself.

Unaware of Methos’ internal panic, Richie continued to slowly apply more and more pressure and rant. He was so intent on killing the older man, that he didn’t notice that Methos had subtly shifted his position so that he could reach up and touch Richie’s face with his hands. As expected Richie flinched at the contact and lost his concentration and grip for a split second, which gave Methos the chance to render the young man dumb.

Methos lunged forward and kissed Richie soundly on the mouth.

Richie stood in shock, mouth hanging slack as his mind tried to process what exactly had just happened. He blinked, stared at Methos in disgust and horror, and then turned on his heel and ran out of the house.

Standing alone in a large house that didn’t belong to him, Methos wondered what on earth had possessed him to do that. Oh yes, he realized, shock him out of it so he wouldn’t kill me. Brilliant plan, except for the part where he’s going to come back and kill me for doing that. 

He really needed a drink.

Then a traitorous part of his mind spoke up, You did it because you wanted to. He has a passion you can’t know on your own and is so very young and attractive. 

Yes, he really needed a drink.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

 

Richie walked back into his house the next morning, bleary-eyed and dragging his feet. He stomped up the stairs and into the room Methos had claimed for himself. And there he was, the oldest man in the world, asleep.

“I know you’re there Ryan,” Methos said as he cracked an eye open. “I heard you come in.”

“Good for you.” Richie remained where he was, determined not to move.

“Well?” he asked, sitting up. “I assume you have something to say to me.”

“Yeah, I do.”

Methos waited a few moments, but when the other man remained silent he pressed for information. “And?”

“I want you out of my house,” he said before leaving the room.

“You can’t make me leave!” Methos called after him.

“Yes, I can. Now leave.” Richie disappeared into his own room.

Methos vaulted from his bed, quickly pulled on pants and shirt, and invaded Richie’s room. “Make sense, Ryan. You tried to throw me out, but I’m still here. You can’t get rid of me that easily.”

“I know, you’re like a really talkative and alcoholic mold.” He sighed. “Look, I gotta do this my way. Grieve, I mean. And that means I don’t want people watching me do it.”

Methos could hardly believe what he was hearing. Richie had… grown up, a little. It was disturbing to realize. “I won’t leave.”

Richie tensed and glared at Methos. His look was so full of violence barely held in check that Methos felt a repulsive thrill of desire for the boy. “You will,” Richie said.

“Yes, I think I will,” Methos said, desperately trying to keep his voice even. Better to leave now, he thought, before things get out of control. 

Leaving quickly, he didn’t notice Richie collapsing on his bed, but only heard his own devil speak up again. But he’s not complicated like the others, simple, clean. It would be so easy. So nice. 

“No,” he whispered hoarsely to himself. “No, I don’t want that. I don’t. I never wanted any of it. They always found me, I never… I never…”

But you could. It would be nice, for a change. 

“Shit.”

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

 

It was a month later and Methos was plastered. He was walking down the street toward Richie’s house, singing off key and swaying out of step. He wasn’t supposed to be thinking about the young man with wide shoulders that tensed in anger and startlingly blue eyes and flickered beautifully with rage. It was becoming an unhealthy obsession.

Finally he reached the house and found Richie’s window. He chucked his empty beer bottle at it. “Hey!” he shouted into the night. “I… you… there’s words I wanna have with you!” A light switched on, but no other response came. “Fine, just hide up there, that’s what you do best. But let me tell you something… stupid son of a bitch… that there’s a lot you don’t know. Can’t ever know. You--!”

Richie stood at his back door, wearing flannel pants and his sword in hand. “Get inside. Now.” His face and tone brooked no argument.

Methos shuffled inside and wandered around the kitchen, fiddling with whatever caught his eye. “I told you, you couldn’t get rid of me easy.”

“Why are you here?” Richie sounded as if he knew he wasn’t going to get a coherent answer from the other man.

Methos stared at Richie and blinked at him. “You don’t know?” Richie started to answer, but Methos kept talking. “I can’t stop thinking about you, you bastard. It’s not fair! You don’t even… and you remind me of… things… things I used to do. And I wanted it again. It’s not fair.”

“Methos,” Richie warned.

“What? You gonna hit me?” Methos teased.

“I’m thinking about it.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“Would you? Please?” Methos almost pleaded.

Richie backed away, dropping his sword. This is wrong, he thought, more than wrong. Very wrong and very bad and he should be very far away from me. 

Methos drew closer as Richie backed up, the distance between them closing bit by bit. As soon as he was close enough, Methos reached out, grabbed Richie’s wrist, and held it in a vice-like grip.

Richie’s reaction was instinctive. He punched Methos in the nose and shoved him back. Methos fell to the ground and wiped at his nose, satisfied to see blood again. He laughed, a high mechanical laugh. Richie was sure that the old man had lost it.

Dragging himself back up, Methos approached Richie again. “Nope, that was good. I’m afraid, boy, that we have found ourselves at an impasse.”

“What the fuck are you on, old man?” Richie backed away even more, but found himself trapped against a wall, with only Methos in front of him.

“Beer,” was the chipper reply. Methos cornered Richie and grinned madly. “Are you afraid, Ryan? Of me?”

“No.” Richie’s jaw clenched as he attempted to stare the other man down.

“Are you angry?” Methos purred.

“Yes,” he growled.

“Then prove it.” Before Richie had time to react, Methos was kissing him in earnest, which resulted in Richie once again grabbing Methos by the throat, turning them around, so that Methos was pinned against the wall once more. Methos giggled, drunkenly happy to be riling the boy up and hopefully reaping the rewards. “Or are you too afraid. Gonna go running to MacLeod. ‘Daddy save from the bad man!’” he mocked.

“Shut up.”

“Make me.”

“I will.”

“There’s only one way to do that.”

Richie made no move, only stared at Methos, his whole body tense with rage.

“You going to go running to MacLeod?”

“No.”

“Goo—” was all Methos managed before Richie forcefully crushed his lips to Methos’. There wasn’t thought, just sex that bordered on fighting.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

 

The next morning, Richie found himself in a tangle of limbs with the world’s oldest man and felt a horrible sensation in his gut, like a ball of cold lead had been dropped into his stomach. He hauled himself up off the floor and staggered into the bathroom. His knees crashed down onto the tile floor, and he doubled over, retching into the toilet. When he had emptied his stomach of all food and worked his way down to dry heaving he flushed the evidence away and leaned his back against the cool wall.

He tried to not think about what he had done last night, that he had betrayed Ella, but the images wouldn’t go away. Methos underneath him, writhing, himself actually liking the feeling of... No! He wasn’t going there again. Never again.

Levering himself up against the wall, he stood and made his way upstairs, leaning heavily on the banister. It was time to get out of this house. Too many memories were here. Maybe he’d take a page out of Mac’s book and wander the world for a while. Get his mind clear, or something. See some of that stuff that people always talk about.

Get away from a stupid fake-British guy who would smirk at him a lot after this. And smirking would lead to punching and punching lead to... bad things.

Yeah, it was time to get gone.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

 

By the Methos woke up it was nearing noon and he was feeling stiff and sore. He hadn’t done a lot of that in a long time. It had been, well not nice, but something. Rolling over onto his back he smirked and stared up at the white ceiling. Something that he had been lacking. Too long and he forgot why he kept on going, day after day. The boy had passion, that was for sure. Ryan was angry, sure, but he felt everything so keenly, so immediately in a way he himself never had. It was good to be reminded of that every once and while.

He wandered about the house, looking for the boy, hoping for another reminder. Thinking on it, Richie wasn’t normally the kind of man he went for, a bit simpler in the mental department, but the relative innocence was refreshing. No mind games, or games that involved sharp things, and a punch he could take. Just simple passion, raw emotion.

His train of thought derailed, however, when he entered Richie’s room. It had been ransacked, clothes and other necessities taken almost at random. Frowning, he inspected the closet only to find a suitcase missing. Richie had left.

Methos laughed. So the boy had done it, gotten himself away from the house. His plan had worked, after a fashion, with a few benefits to himself.

Oh yeah, it was good to be him.

Now he just needed to find his pants.


End file.
